Living Without
by Dragonfly-Moonlight
Summary: G1, au. A typical day for Ironhide . . . on the anniversary of something tragic.


Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Ironhide stifled a groan. There was no way in the pits for it to be time for him to get up. He checked his chronometer. Yep. Time to get up.

This time, Ironhide didn't bother to stifle a groan as he pushed himself up. Another day had come and he did not relish the thought. He shuffled slowly towards the window and pressed the button that would allow sunlight into his cramped quarters.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

The alarm clock (a gift from Spike Witwicky) sent out its annoying call as the blinds lifted, bathing the entire room in sunlight. Ironhide ignored it as he squinted in the brightness. Without even meaning to, he looked out the window and saw what anyone looking out his window or any other window saw.

Autobot City had become expansive almost overnight. It glistened bright white and warm orange in the morning light, like a gold-banded diamond ring. Most of the City's residents were awake by this time and it bustled with the life of any major metropolitan city with the only distinction that the Autobots were the main residents.

The light of the morning sun illuminated his quarters. Dust had settled on several items, indicating that they had not been moved for a great deal of time. It obscured several of the holo-photos but he had never made any move to clean them.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

The alarm clock still rang. Ironhide made no move to silence it. He stared with tired optics at the City before him as he did every day. Things had changed. The war had been over and the Autobots had achieved absolute victory over the Decepticons. Cybertron was under Autobot control and had been for nearly a century. For that, he should have been happy and he told himself that over and over again.

Lied. That was what he did to himself. He lied. Anything to fill the void that had opened up inside of him, he'd do. If he thought they would beat back the tides of despair, he'd beat them back with lie after lie but nothing filled the void. Nothing took away the emptiness that had filled him and gnawed away at his spirit. Any and all spirit to thrive had drained away.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

"Ironhide?"

The muffled voice of Optimus Prime entered the room in an effort to be heard over the alarm clock. This, too, had become ritual in the past century. Ever since she passed away but Ironhide made no move to answer either the door or to silence the call of his alarm clock.

"Ironhide, I know you're in there. I can hear that blasted alarm clock. It's time to get started."

Wordlessly, Ironhide closed the blinds and trudged to the door. He wanted to be left alone. Nothing more, nothing less. Yet, he knew it could not be. No one left him anymore. They had to make sure he still functioned, whether he wanted to or not.

"Ironhide . . ." Prime's voice became a little louder. Ironhide shut off the alarm clock on his way. He wasn't sure how much more he'd be able to take and he stopped a mere inch away from the door.

"Please, Ironhide, open the door," came the soft plea. "I know you're in there and I know you can hear me. Please, just open the door."

Ironhide gazed dully at the door. He knew Optimus meant well by these visits. Maybe they did do him a bit of good to see a familiar face in a sea of uncertainty. But it changed nothing. He still lied to himself, still did whatever he could do to ease the ache he'd grown accustomed to.

'Maybe I'm just meant to suffer,' he had thought more than once.

"That's it, Ironhide! I'm . . ."

He opened the door just before the threat could be finished. Prime's massive body filled the frame and a pair of blue optics stared right back at him. Only Prime's glowed a little more and had a bit more life to them. The warmth had long since left Ironhide's and he knew it.

"Ironhide, we better . . ."

"Do you know what today is?"

Optimus blinked. He had learned to expect many things from Ironhide in the millions of years they had known each other but the most recent years had been trying. The older Mech had become withdrawn, reclusive, and hardly spoke to anyone. He wasn't his usual ornery self and everyone had noticed. The question had caught him off-guard and it took a moment for him to register just what it was Ironhide hinted at.

"Yes . . . I know what today is . . ."

Ironhide nodded.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Ironhide," he began.

"I'm not going anywhere," the older mech repeated.

"You're needed . . ."

"Find someone else. I'm not going anywhere. Not today."

"Ironhide," Prime began as the older mech turned away. "You can't hole yourself up here. . ."

"I'm not going anywhere today, Prime," Ironhide repeated, his voice growing softer. "I can't . . ."

Something in Ironhide's voice stopped Prime from what he was going to say next. The old mech truly meant what he said this time. He knew it by the sadness in his voice and the defeat that reverberated throughout his bulky frame. Yet, there was something more. Something he couldn't place his finger on and he didn't want to let Ironhide walk away without a fight of some kind.

"Ironhide . . ."

"I said I'm not going, Prime. Please . . . just leave me be."

Optimus still hesitated. He knew Ironhide shouldn't be alone, especially today, but he also knew he couldn't force him to go anywhere or to do anything. There were moments when one just had to back away and let someone be, whether it was a good idea or not.

"Very well, Ironhide. I'll stop by later to check on you. Have a good day off, old friend."

The Autobot leader left and Ironhide slumped into a nearby chair. His optics misted over as he fought the tears back as he had fought them back for the past century. He wasn't one for tears and he wasn't about to let them fall anytime soon. His sanity depended too much on him being strong and able to survive.

Ironhide had seen many things throughout the Great War. He had lost countless numbers of friends and colleagues, and seen the rise and fall of, not one but five Autobot leaders. Everything he had known and loved had changed yet he struggled on. But nothing had prepared him for the losses he had suffered towards the end. Nothing eased the pain of loss over the course of time. It always caught up with him, someway, somehow. Ironhide closed his optics, his mind playing the same event over and over again. They thought that he had found her that way. They told him that there wasn't anything he could have done to prevent it. They never knew and he wasn't about to tell them what happened that day, one hundred years ago. . .

The day had started well enough. As was his routine, he got up, checked on the local sports, and had his morning fix. But all normalcy ended there. Chromia would be arriving to Earth sometime within the hour after having toured the bases for two weeks. As much as she infuriated him sometimes, Ironhide knew he couldn't wait to see her again.

Ironhide smiled. It had been a picture perfect day, as the humans said. The sun shone brightly in an azure sky and it was quiet. No Deceptions for at least a billion miles.

"There's something I need to tell you . . ."

Ironhide looked at the faded blue Femme, his optics radiating with a rare heartfelt happiness. He knew he loved her and, once the day was won, once they could spend more days like this, he wanted to make her his life-mate.

"And what's that?"

He looked at her and saw that she kept her head down. Uncertainty had etched itself into her frame. Whatever it was she had to say had her scared. He saw it.

"I ran a self-diagnostic test on myself . . ." she whispered. She started trembling so Ironhide took her into his arms.

"And?" he asked quietly.

"I'm expecting . . ."

Ironhide closed his optics, the memory of the loss of their last child painfully vivid and clear. No wonder she hadn't looked him in the optic when she told him that. Losing one child was painful enough. She had lost two. That was worse.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke a word, each processing the weight of her words. They had talked about the loss of their last child whenever they were comfortable about the subject. A rarity. But they had agreed on one thing. Her miscarriage somehow felt deliberate, like someone didn't want them to be having children at all. Finally, Ironhide spoke. After all, there was a certain amount of joy to be had at expecting another child.

"I think . . . that's wonderful."

She raised her head up, her optics shimmering with tears.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Their lips touched together for a moment and they smiled when it was over. It had been the perfect day.

Ironhide opened his optics and stared at the blinds. He hadn't found her that day. Whoever had said that had lied. He was there when they were attacked by some unknown assailant. The burning sensation of laser fire still echoed throughout his back. He never knew he'd been hit until he came to and saw her lying next to him, her body covered in energon. Her energon. Only he knew that, when the memorial service had been held, two lives were being mourned, not one. Yet, Ironhide told no one that secret. They had agreed not to tell anyone until she delivered and the secret consumed him, along with the nagging feeling that he should have been the one to die, that he should have protected her or at least found her killer.  
The cycle of guilt, lies, and secrets continued on . . .

The End!


End file.
